


A Holy Thing

by Good0mens



Series: 'Tis a Fearful Thing [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Gratuitous Smut, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Nicky is religious and loves Joe and those things exist together, Nicky is soft, Nicky loves Joe okay, Oral Fixation, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, joe is soft, no beta we die like men, no religious guilt here, they're soft boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good0mens/pseuds/Good0mens
Summary: "A thing for fools, this, and a holy thing, a holy thing to love."
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: 'Tis a Fearful Thing [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897807
Comments: 20
Kudos: 398





	A Holy Thing

Nothing feels so pure or so corrupt than Yusuf’s hands clasped in prayer with Nicolo’s own, beneath sheets where there is only naked faith. _Yusuf, Yusuf, please,_ Nicky echoes a litany of his name, for his lover is a hallowed god in earthly form, in delicious, supple flesh under his hands, in dark glistening skin above his own flushed, unbreakable body.

 _I have you, Habibi,_ comes the answer, followed by large hands resting upon his neck, thumbs tracing the curve of Nicky’s cheekbones, and lips pressing to his own. There are evenings, after days during missions spent revolving around each other, anchored by each other’s presence but focused on the task at hand, where Joe will touch him like this afterwards, where gravity pulls them in to collide, creating their own little universe, and Nicky doesn’t know how, but a simple touch like this makes his bones settle into his skin.

 _I want-_ Nicky cuts himself off with a whine as Yusuf’s hips press further into his own.

 _I know, beloved,_ because he does, of course Joe knows what Nicky wants, what he needs. Yusuf’s lips leave his to traverse down his body.

No scripture Nicolo has read could capture Joe’s devotion to his thighs; his lips are adoring softness underneath the scratchiness of his full beard, and his voice drips with sweet honey as he hums songs of tainted religion between each trembling pillar. Nicolo’s body commits the rumbling notes to muscle memory, as if he could ever forget this. Forget him.

When Joe licks into him, hands clutching Nicky’s thighs to keep them apart as he ruins Nicky with each swipe of his tongue, Nicky keens, back bowed, head forced back into the pillows. Nicky’s hands, which at one time he thought were built by God for the purpose to kill in His name, now find resolution in the soft curls of Yusuf’s hair, gripping and fulfilled. 

Fingers press in, in, in until Nicky has to remind himself to breathe, a hitched, aborted sound, when Yusuf crooks them deep inside. It is not a rushed thing, this time spent, but Nicolo shows his impatience in the cant of his hips down, in the way his grasp tightens and releases on Yusuf’s hair.

Joe pays him no mind, delighted in his desperation, the upward crescent of his smile against the skin of Nicky’s groin revealing so. Nicky knows this feeling: the way his touch moves him, how he can feel its rippling impact down Nicky’s spine. There is power in knowing your touch is welcome, a lazy greed that fills you up, warm and heady.

Yusuf takes Nicky at his leisure, waiting until he has three fingers moving easily in and out, until Nicolo is a trembling mess of pleads and Joe’s name, to pull out and position Nicky’s thighs over his legs, hot heat pressed so close to where he needs it.

 _Amato Yusuf, adesso, per favore,_ it tumbles out in gasps, eyes shut tight as Nicky’s hands blindly follow up over Joe’s chest, curling around his nape and urging him closer.

 _Open your eyes, Habibi, let me see you_ , Joe rumbles, soft and sweet and full of love.

When he does so, Nicolo is caught in the rapture of his beauty and his gentleness. He was forged from a people he was taught to hate, a people he has killed, yet it is Yusuf’s touch that remains reverent when he turns the puddle of sweat in the dip of Nicky’s collarbones to wine and sips, when Joe presses into the cradle of his hips like he is returning home.

One of Nicky’s hands curl around Yusuf’s bicep, and Joe claims his other hand against the bed, holding himself still, deep inside of Nicky. He lets out a shaky sigh, teetering on that knife-edge of overwhelmed, _it’s so much_ , this love, this fullness, this man-

 _Yusuf_ , he urges, uselessly moving his hips up, trying and failing to get impossibly closer, to elicit movement from Joe, _anything._

Joe takes the hand not in his and firmly holds his pelvis down, preventing him from moving. Finally, just as Nicky fears he may unravel from frustration, Joe pulls out before fucking back into him, hard.

Nicky lets out a choked noise. Yusuf repeats the motion, setting a harsh, precise rhythm that has him letting out a ragged, breathy moan every time Joe sinks deep inside where he belongs.

Nicolo can do nothing but offer himself up to his lover, a profane sacrifice, arching into every movement of their entangled bodies. Joe takes from what is freely given, and he does not yield; Nicolo is willing prey, devoured whole under him.

Nicky is still staring into Joe, into dark brown eyes, unwavering in their focus, adoration and heat burning there in equal measure. The hand on Nicky’s groin moves to take hold of his chin and Nicky parts his lips at the gentle tug, watches how Joe’s eyes darken impossibly as his fingers dip inside his mouth. There’s a sensuality to this, to letting Joe finger and fuck wherever he pleases, to let Joe own his body. Heat curls and coils in his abdomen as saliva coated fingers trace down his chin before his hand presses lightly on his neck, a suggestion, a tease.

He squeezes briefly, and Nicky feels drunk on the smugness in Yusuf’s gaze, as his thrusts increase in pace, fucking him hard enough to push Nicky further towards the head of the bed. His hand leaves Nicky’s throat to hold him still while he fucks into him.

Yusuf creates new gospels around the curve of Nicky’s rib cage, where his fingers slot perfectly in the dip between each bone - as if Nicky were made in his image, to fit and fill his negative spaces. Joe’s body curves into Nicky’s edges as if he were made the same.

And they were, _they had to be_ , Nicky thinks wildly, as the last vestiges of rational thought leave his mind under Joe’s skilled touch. They came into this immortal life together, by each other’s hands, and they will leave this life together, or not at all.

Joe’s fingers wrap around him, and by his hand, Nicky is undone and remade once again.


End file.
